maskormenacelogs | ( closed ) oh, you look like a fighter, you couldn't recognise yourself

Ta.

( It takes her a second to sit because, ow, everything, but before she does she takes the bandages as well, and makes a pathetically creaky sound of protest as she sits. First, painkillers: she throws back a couple, and sets them down between them. As she starts to dress the wounds, she keeps her gaze trained very carefully on them. )

Sorry I went off. The other day, I mean. I went off pretty bad.

[ Sarah turns on the TV and clicks the volume down low, just so they have some background noise. ]

Yeah, you did. But you're also talking to someone who used to regularly trash her brother's studio whenever she got pissed off, so I can't judge. [ Sarah Manning versus Sarah Manning's poor impulse control: no matter who wins, Felix always loses. ] It's okay. [ This she adds almost as an afterthought, her voice quiet. ]

( Just a little nod, a slight upward tilt of her chin as the bandage rolls over her palm, knuckles, wrist. There's quiet for a bit, as she tries to turn it all over in her head. It's so hard when she feels so tired and burned out, like the moment she stopped moving she's realised how tapped out she's gotten. That was sort of the point, though, to keep moving and bruising until there was nothing left. )

I blew up part of the old shearing shed when I was a kid. At my Uncle's place, um. It wasn't being used anymore, part coming down already, but— they weren't very impressed.

( Still, there is a slight smile. ) Could say I've got an explosive temperament.

[ Sarah grins, half embarrassed, half pleased Sarissa's even talking to her about this. ]

It's cute you think I meant when I was a kid. This was like six months ago. [ She goes quiet a few seconds, thinking, then adds, ] You'd think your uncle would've been pleased about it. He didn't have to charge for demolition.

What did you think I meant when I said "kid"? We're barely grown ups.

( Her voice is scratchy and tired, and part of her really just wants to keel over and rest her head on Sarah's shoulder or her lap, but being here feels strange still, and talking to Sarah feels like it could just be something she's imagining while actually flat on her back and out cold. The smile though, for all that it's small and fades quickly, is sincere. )

I think he was a bit alarmed by the fascination. ( Sarissa's gaze drops, and she swaps to wrapping up the opposite hand. ) I was an alarming kid, probably.

I haven't felt like a kid in a long time.

[ She forgets, sometimes, that they're barely 30. Most of the time she feels like she's lived a hundred years already. She moves so she's sitting with her legs drawn up to her chest, watching as Sarissa wraps her hands. ]

I can see how that'd be alarming, though. [ She doesn't sound like she thinks it's a big deal. Kids destroying shit, that's normal, right? Sometimes she wishes Kira would burn a shed down instead of what she does instead, which is dream. And know things. ]

Because when you're a kid you're meant to be able to feel safe. Like someone else'll have all the answers. You can believe in dragons and... bad guys are easy to spot and people aren't complicated and good always wins.

( She looks at Sarah, ignoring her half done bandage. )

You keep getting stuff taken away, and nothing is steady or safe. You know how complicated the world is and don't get to shut your eyes the way most people do.

[ Sarah laughs, quiet and sad. ]

The worst thing is, my kid can't even be a kid anymore. She's always worrying, and she— [ "is psychic or some shit and I don't understand it" ]—she knows shit kids shouldn't know about.

[ Sarah reaches out and touches Sarissa's forehead, brushing some hair back from her face. ]

That's all I meant when I said you were lucky, that day. It's good, you know... that you won't have to deal with all that.

It won't always be like that, but. ( Quiet, and oddly certain. She's not sure what to do with what Sarah said, the second part, though she turns slightly more towards the contact. ) It won't be. Kids are tough, you know? Things'll get better, and you and-- she'll have you and your sisters, and one day you'll all be able to relax. And when you can breathe easy, she will, too. It means a lot, you know? When you've got family that'll do anything to protect you. She might be afraid but she's got you.

( Her jaw clenches and unclenches a few times in quick succession, right foot bouncing a little - a nervous habit that she stills as soon as she realises it, shrugging stiffly. )

It-- seemed more complicated.

Yeah. I know. [ Which is a lie. She doesn't know everything will be okay, or that it'll ever end, but she does know that Sarissa won't be with them to see what happens. For that reason alone, she has to let them both pretend that they're sure things will be good in the end. ]

Everything's complicated, Riss. Part of me's happy for you, part of me's jealous, part of me really wishes Cosima's test was wrong.

( I wanted to be able to help.

This isn't about what she wants. It's about what Sarah and the girls live with every day. Sarissa's delusions of riding in like a knight in shining armour - "insufficient layers to cope with Canada" seemed more realistic - were nothing. They were a dancing shadow.

So she nods, and then she frowns, before snapping her gaze to look to Sarah. Sometimes Sarissa goes from looking scornful or tired or smug as hell to looking very young and lost in a matter if seconds. )

Really?

Which part? [ Sarah shrugs, feeling awkward. Sarissa looks so young right now, and so lost, and so sad. Sarah hates it, wishes she could make it stop, but she doesn't know how.] But, yeah, really. All of it.

Wanting it to be wrong.

( Slightly sheepishly, Sarissa draws up her knees and hugs her legs closer, fidgeting a little with her bandages. )

I don't have... I'm not the person people want to keep around. I try not to be. Then if they don't want me, it's because I wasn't trying to keep them. Not anything else.

Course I want it to be wrong.

[ Sarah leans against her, careful not to rest too heavily on her bruises, and tucks her head against Sarissa's shoulder. She closes her eyes and just breathes for a while, thinking about how she wants to express this. Words have never been that easy to her, at least not true words. ]

You're great, yeah? You're smart, and you're brave, and you were a cop. And you're good to have around just to make everything less... shite. [ She's not sure she should say what's coming next, but she says it anyway. ] I thought—we're so similar, in some ways, yeah? I'm so different from all the others I've met. I met you and I thought Here's one who's kinda like me, who makes me like some things about myself more. You fit into my life the way Felix did, right away, even though we barely knew each other. It was easy and good and... you just belong with us. That's why I wish Cosima's test was wrong. S'why it doesn't matter if it's not, too. You're my family now.

( Cautiously, figuring out her own bruises, Sarissa rests her cheek against Sarah's hair. She'd put an arm around her but now she's stopped moving any kind of extending of arms seems like the worst idea possible. Settling for curling her fingers into Sarah's shirt will have to do, be the anchor she feels like she needs. )

And I make really good blanket forts.

( It's not quite as playful or absurd as she'd try to normally say it. Quiet and serious, still, but less jagged edges than before. It's hard to know what to say after that much kindness and openness - though its the openness that surprises her more than the kindness. Sarah's got barbed wire for self-preservation, but it never meant the heart behind it was cold or cruel. )

Thank you. ( Feels lame to say, and she can't not. If she were better at being callous she might be dismissive.

Instead she's quiet, moves just to kiss the top of Sarah's head before settling back again. )

For the record? Being around you made me feel better, too. I'm not so good at words, sometimes. You remind me of Van Gogh stuff. Like, uh-- if you're just looking at a fraction of it, it's rough and messy and colourful. It's not all clean lines and classical stuff, its got texture and its vibrant. And maybe people can't make sense of you when they don't see you. But you're bloody Starry Night, Sarah. When people, or when you see you? You're spectacular. All the parts you don't like are part of what makes you so important. Van Gogh wouldn't be Van Gogh with clean lines and everything neat and tidy.

( She frowns. ) I'm not sure that made sense.

Edited (missing werds) 2016-10-11 03:45 (UTC)

[ Sarah laughs—quiet, embarrassed, surprised—and keeps her head tucked against Sarissa's shoulder, where she doesn't have to look up or make eye contact. ]

Let's not get too crazy. [ The words mean a lot of things. They mean thanks, and holy shit, and that is potentially the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me in my life. She hopes it's all clear in her voice, because she can't actually utter the words. She thinks if she does, she might cry again, and then where would they be? Crying on the couch all night—without any alcohol, even—and that's just not punk.

Instead, she says, ] Didn't that guy cut off his ear?

( Sarissa huffs out a breath, and it's almost a laugh. )

Yeah. And I think he ate paint, sometimes. I heard he had uh, the thing where people hear music and feel different sensations and that, when they look at colours?

( She might sound a tiny bit like she's smiling. )

Don't over think the metaphor.

Shit, I'll have to tell Felix that the secret to artistic enlightenment is eating paint.

[ When and if Felix comes back, that is. This time, though, Sarah's actually smiling. It's obvious in her voice. ]

( Her shoulders shake just slightly for a moment with silent laughter. ) God, I can just imagine. Bunch of penises lovingly rendered in the stylings of Van Gogh, critics left speechless.

( Gently, she nudges Sarah. )

You alright?

Yeah, I'm good. Are you?

[ Sarah lifts her head and turns to look at Sarissa, gauging her expression for pain and tiredness. ]

Head feels a bit like a rubber band that's been stretched out of shape.

( There's still pain, but its eased up a bit with the painkillers. She's still got the marks on her, of course, and the eye that's shot red, but she looks a little calmer, more relaxed. Still a mess, just balancing somewhere less precarious than a knife edge. )

I'll be 'right.

Yeah, you will. [ Her voice is more confident than her expression, but she shakes her head, stretches, and then nudges Sarissa's shoulder. ]

You should get to bed, though. You must be tired. I know I am, after today.

Yeah.

( She rubs her jaw, and points to the couch. ) I can crash here. I could probably sleep on gravel, right now.

No, take my bed. Come on.

[ She gets up from the couch and tugs at Sarissa's hand. ]

( One protest coming up:

Except it doesn't because she's exhausted and she just nods, letting herself be led. )

I promise not to steal the doonah. Blankets, whatever you call 'em here.

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